Alone
by ourgunsandhorses
Summary: George is learning how to live alone. Spoilers for anyone who hasn't read the last book.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Sorry if this gets a little sloppy at the end. I was crying too hard to finish properly. Fred's death, in my opinion, is the most tragic in the entire series, because not only did he die, but he left behind George. The thought of George having to go through life alone is killing me right now, even though they're fictional.

He knew exactly how it had started. They had all been sitting at the table, talking and laughing. Harry had turned to George, and said "Hey, mate, do you think you and F- you could go grab my coat from the front room?"

George felt a rush of fury and hurt. He stood up, the heavy wooden chair he had been sitting on falling back onto the floor.

Percy twitched slightly, and Harry looked up at him, one hand instinctively wrapping around Ginny's shoulders.

"George-" his mother started toward him, her arms rising so she could pull him into an embrace.

He took a step back, one hand tightly gripping his wand. He glanced to his left, opening his mouth to say something to his brother. Fred wasn't there. He would never be there. Never again. George flushed, turning back to his family. His eyes fell on Ron and Percy. They had been there. They had seen it happen. They could have stopped it.

George took another step back, feeling incredibly alone. His back hit the kitchen counter and he flinched. He shook his head, trying to clear the image of his brother's dead body from his mind.

"Excuse me," he turned and rushed toward the door.

"George," Ron said, standing.

George whirled around.

"We all lost him. All of us."

George's hand tightened on his wand. "He was… he was my brother," His voice was thick with tears.

"He was our brother too!" Ginny sounded indignant.

"Yes, but he was… I was…" George was trembling.

"We all miss him, George," Ron said.

George snapped. He turned on his younger brother, holding up his wand. "He was my best friend!" He screamed. "I lost my best friend in the world and I never got to say goodbye!" Tears were running down his face and he swiped at them clumsily.

"Neither did we!" Percy looked angry and confused, like he didn't understand why George was so upset.

"We all wish things were different-" Harry started.

"HE DIED FOR YOU!" George screamed, whirling on Harry.

Harry flushed. Everyone had been thinking that, even Harry, but nobody had ever said it.

"He was my best friend, and he died for you and now I'm alone," George said softly.

"Harry was willing to die for all of us," Ginny said.

"Yes, well, he didn't, did he?" George was on the verge of hysteria.

"George, when Sirius died-" Harry was changing the subject. Everyone knew how much he hated being portrayed as a hero.

George turned on Harry, "_Stop_ acting like you know what I'm going through, Potter." He spat out Harry's surname like poison. "Fred-" just saying his name hurt. "He's always been here. He's always been with me. And now- now he's gone! Tell me, Harry, have either of your best friends died? No! You have Hermione, you have Ron, you have Ginny! Who do I have, Harry? Who do I have?" His hands were shaking. "Nobody!"

Hermione stifled a sob and Ron wrapped his arms around her.

George turned away, tears rolling down his cheeks. He felt his mother's hand on his arm. He shook he off, storming toward the back door. One flick of his wand and the door was off of the hinges, and George was out of the house.

He sprinted down the driveway, not turning back. He heard his family and friends calling his name, running after him.

George turned onto the road, gravel crunching under his feet. He stopped in his tracks as he realized where he needed to be. He turned, looking down the road at his family. Ron and Charlie were closest, Ginny, Harry and Percy right behind them.

George closed his eyes, turning into the darkness.

George opened his eyes at the bottom of the hill near the graveyard. He started sprinting up the hill, leaping over gravestones and ducking tree branches. He fell to his knees when he reached the small, grey slab of granite. He held up one hand, his fingers tracing the words on the stone: "Here lies Fred Weasley, April 1, 1978- May 2, 1998".

He curled up, leaning against the granite, hugging his legs to his chest. He breathed deeply, his hands shaking. His head fell, his forehead hitting his knees. He started sobbing uncontrollably, his hands tugging at the grass beneath him.

He heard footsteps and looked up, holding up his wand.

Through the tears, he saw Ron.

George and Ron had never been close. If George was going to be honest with himself, he would be able to admit that Fred was really the only one of his siblings he had been all that close with. George loved his siblings, unquestionably, but none of them really knew him. Since Fred had died, George had realized that he didn't even know himself. Being without Fred had taught George how to be alone, but George still didn't know who he was. He was so used to being Fred's right hand man, the follower, that he had forgotten how to be George.

"How did you find me?" He asked, clearing his throat.

Ron walked a little closer, sliding his wand into his pocket. "I figured you wanted to be close to him."

George nodded, wiping the tears off of his cheek. "He's not really here though, is he?"

Ron sat down next to George, leaning back on the headstone, his hands clasped lightly in his lap, "I dunno, George."

George glanced at his younger brother. Ron had aged a hundred years since the battle at Hogwarts. There was a wisdom in his eyes that had never been there, and there was comfort in his voice that George had never heard before.

Ron gazed down the hill, at the mist drifting over the ground. He turned to George, "I'm not going to pretend that I know how you feel," he glanced down at his hands, twining his fingers together, "I know what Fred meant to you. He wasn't just your brother… he was your best friend. You guys did everything together." He clapped his hand onto George's knee and turned to look him in the eye, "I know you're scared, George, of living without him."

George tried not to start crying again. He turned away from Ron, a tear sliding down his cheek.

"But George," Ron sighed, "I also know that you're strong enough to make it through this. You've always been there for me to talk to, even if I never took advantage of that fact. Something about you makes people comfortable." He took a deep breath, like he scared of what he was about to say, "Fred… Fred didn't always care about people's feelings. He didn't understand that he was capable of hurting people. But George, you've always understood that. You've always been the one holding Fred back if you thought he was going too far, you've always been more careful around people."

George glanced at Ron, wondering where he was going with this.

Ron swore under his breath, knotted his fingers tighter together, then turned to George again, "I'm trying to say that you're not alone in this anymore. You're a great wizard, and a bloody brilliant brother, and- and Fred loved you."

George broke down, sobbing into his hands. "I never got to tell him, Ron. I don't think he knew that I love him."

Ron grabbed George's arm, "Are you kidding me, George?"

George looked up, surprised at Ron's rough touch.

"Of course he bloody knew! You were practically a part of him!" Ron let go of George, "You don't have to say it for them to know. I know Harry loves me, he doesn't have to say it. I know Percy loves us, the prat. I know you love me." He looked at George. "Are you ready to go home yet?"

George shook his head, the tears rolling down his cheeks freely.

Ron nodded, "I'm staying with you."

"Do you think he's happy?" George looked up at Ron desperately, tears splashing onto Fred's grave.

Ron turned toward George, and George saw his younger brother's eyes sparkling with tears. "Yeah, I do."

"He always told me what to do. He always made the plans. I don't know what I'm supposed to do without him. I don't know how I'm supposed to live without him. Part of me died when he did. He left me alone, and I don't know how to face the world without him next to me. I don't-" George choked on his words, sobbing into his arm. "I don't know who I am anymore."

Ron grabbed his brother's arm again, squeezing, as tears began falling from his own eyes.

The two brothers leaned into each other, sobbing together over Fred's grave. And for the first time since his brother, his best friend, his other half, died, George didn't feel so alone.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Sorry this isn't as long as the first chapter. I actually hadn't planned on writing a second chapter in the first place, but I figured I might as well try!

George stood outside of Shell Cottage, facing the cold water. The breeze swept up from the sea, ruffling his hair. He pulled his baggy sweater tighter around his thin frame. His parents had sent him to stay with Bill and Fleur after he had run out of the house two weeks ago.

"He's been out there for hours," Ginny muttered to Harry. She turned away from the window, wrapping her arms around Harry's waist. He kissed her forehead, glancing at Ron in concern.

Ron turned away from the window, and toward Bill. "How has he been?"

Bill sighed, sinking into a chair. He gestured out the window, "Exactly like this."

Fleur stepped up behind her husband, rubbing his shoulders with pale hands, "'e 'as not spoken a word in two weeks."

The back door slammed shut and everyone turned as George walked in. He avoided eye contact, not even acknowledging his two youngest siblings and their partners. He had lost weight, his already thin limbs now almost comically stick-like. He pulled off his sweater as he walked through the room, tossing it onto one of the overstuffed armchairs. He shivered as he started up the stairs.

"George," Ron said softly.

George paused, then turned. The dark circles under his eyes were almost black, and his skin was sallow.

"We've, uh, we've come to visit you," Ron continued, waving his hand at Harry, Hermione and Ginny.

George nodded once.

"How are you feeling?" Hermione asked awkwardly.

George just looked at her, breathing shallowly.

Tears flecked the corners of Hermione's eyes and she impatiently brushed them aside. Ron's hand reached over, his warm, rough skin clasping hers.

George turned away, climbing up the stairs without looking back.

That night, at dinner, everyone was silent. George was still up in the guest room.

"Has he eaten today?" Ginny asked.

Bill shook his head, "He didn't eat yesterday either."

"Maybe somebody should go check on him?" Harry looked around at the others.

Fleur shook her head, pale hair falling over her shoulders, "'e keeps 'is door locked."

Everyone turned when they heard a small noise at the doorway. George walked into the room, still refusing to look at anyone. He grabbed a glass from the cupboard, filled it with water at the sink, then turned and walked out.

Harry turned back to his food, feeling sick.

There was the sound of breaking glass and a soft gasp in the other room. Everyone got to their feet, peering around the doorway.

George was crouched on the floor, gathering small pieces of glass from the floor.

Ron hurried over, dropping to his knees and helping his brother gather the pieces of shattered glass.

A sliver of glass slipped in George's hand, slicing the pad of his thumb open. George gazed down at his hand, blood welling up from the wound.

"Are you okay?" Ron stared at George's face, trying to detect a flicker of emotion on the man's blank face.

George glanced up at Ron. He got to his feet, brushing past the others to dump the pieces of glass in the trashcan. He rinsed his cut hand off in the sink, wiping the blood off on his pants. Silently, he walked back out of the kitchen and toward the stairs.

"George," Ron called.

George glanced over his shoulder at his younger brother.

"Just… remember what I said, okay?"

George blinked, then climbed up the stairs, the door to the guest room slamming closed moments later.

A/N: Again, I'm sorry this was so short!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I tried to make this one a little longer, because the last one was so short. I hope you enjoy!

The next morning, Harry woke as somebody walked softly through the living room. He sat up, glancing at Ron, who had fallen asleep on an armchair, his head resting on his shoulder at an awkward angle. Harry got to his feet, pushing the blankets that covered him back onto the couch he had slept on.

Ron snored loudly, startling himself awake. His long limbs jerked and he looked up at Harry, "Morning."

Harry grinned, "Morning."

They walked into the kitchen together, yawning and stretching.

George sat at the table, his head in his hands and a slice of toast with jam on the table in front of him.

"George!" Harry's voice seemed unnaturally loud in the small room.

George flinched, his shoulders moving inward.

"Sorry," Harry muttered, sinking into a chair at the opposite end of the table.

The back door swung open and Fleur breezed in, holding an armful of clean laundry. She stopped for a moment, then smiled, "Good morning."

"Morning," Harry and Ron grunted.

George stood, sliding the toast across the table to Harry. He slipped out the back door, closing it softly behind him.

Fleur looked over her shoulder, gazing out the window at the young man. She turned back to Harry and Ron, tears brimming in her eyes. Wordlessly, she hurried out of the kitchen.

Ron turned as Hermione and Ginny walked in.

"Is Fleur okay?" Hermione asked, sitting next to Ron.

Harry sighed as Ginny bent to kiss the top of his head, "I think she's worried about George."

Ginny turned, looking out the window at her brother. George was sitting in the grass, staring out at the sea. "Ron," She turned to him, "Maybe you could try to talk to him again?"

Ron glanced at Hermione. She nodded encouragingly, clasping his hand with hers. He got to his feet, "It's worth a try."

He walked out the back door, shutting it behind him. He breathed in, smelling the ocean air.

George looked up, his hollow eyes drawing Ron forward.

Ron sat down a few feet away from George. He didn't say anything, he just sat.

George moved a few inches away, locking his eyes on the horizon.

Ron wasn't sure how much time had passed before Fleur came out, but judging by the numbness in his fingers, it had been hours.

Fleur draped a blanket over Ron's shoulders, whispering, "Thank you," into his ear.

She gently wrapped another blanket around George, ignoring the way he flinched away from her touch. She lightly squeezed his shoulder, then turned, rushing back inside.

Hours passed. Ron's stomach growled fiercely, and his throat was raw and dry from breathing in the cold, salty air for so long. His numb fingers wrapped the blanket tighter around his shoulders. He glanced at George, and frowned when he saw how violently his brother was shivering. Groaning, he rolled to his knees, his stiff joints cracking as he moved. He crawled over to George, his frozen hands reaching out and pulling the blanket tighter around George's body.

George's eyes slid open, red and watery. He looked up at Ron, his faintly blue lips trembling.

"Come inside, please," Ron said.

George got slowly to his feet, his hands shaking. He staggered toward the house.

Ron was sure to stay a few feet behind George, in case his brother needed his help getting inside.

George stumbled slightly and Ron reached out, firmly grabbing the man's arm.

George pulled away, looking in the opposite direction.

Bill pulled the door open as his brothers approached, ushering them inside.

George rushed through the kitchen, draping the blanket over the back of one of the chairs. He ran up the stairs, his bedroom door slamming closed a few seconds later.

Ron sank into one of the chairs, rubbing his freezing hands together. Hermione sat beside him, setting a mug of hot tea in front of him. She took his hands into her own, rubbing her smooth palms over his numb skin.

"Are you alright, Ron?" Bill asked, sitting at the head of the table.

Ron nodded, his teeth chattering.

"How's George?" Harry asked. He was crouched in front of the fireplace, his wand clutched in one hand, the fire he had just lit blazing.

Ron shook his head, "We didn't talk."

Fleur set a bowl of hot stew in front of Ron. She handed him the fork, "Eat."

Ron obliged, spooning the stew into his mouth.

Ginny sat opposite him, biting her lip. She hugged one knee to her chest, "George is going to get sick if he keeps going outside. It's getting colder out."

"I noticed," Ron muttered, shoving another spoonful into his mouth.

Hermione rolled her eyes, one hand tracing circles on Ron's back.

Harry got to his feet, brushing soot off of his knees. "So, what's going to happen now?"

Everyone was silent.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning, everyone except George sat at the kitchen table, as Fleur and Bill cleared the dishes from breakfast. Fleur glanced outside at the sky, "It looks like it is going to rain. I will go get ze clothes."

She pulled a jacket over her shoulders and headed outside.

George stepped into the kitchen just as the back door closed. He pulled a glass from the cupboard, filling it with water. He leaned against the counter, staring at the floor.

The back door opened, banging against the wall as a cold breeze blew through.

George jumped, water sloshing out of the cup and onto his shirt. He blinked at it for a moment, then looked back at the floor.

Fleur rushed into the house, the clothing piled high in her arms. Bill hurried forward as the clothes tipped forward, catching them in his long arms. He planted a kiss on her forehead, then followed her out of the kitchen.

George sipped his water, then stepped forward, closing the door.

Ron and Harry shared a glance. This was the first time George had stayed in a room with them for more than five seconds.

A sudden rumble of thunder shook the house and George clenched the counter behind him, his knuckles going white.

"Are you okay?" Ginny asked her older brother.

George paled as thunder made the cottage shake again, and hurried out of the kitchen. He rushed past Bill and Fleur, who were in the sitting room, talking to each other in hushed voices. He ran up the stairs and into the guest bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

He leaned against the wall as the house shuddered again, sinking to the floor. He buried his face in his knees, sobbing.

He remembered once, when he was six, there had been a terrible thunderstorm that had made the entire Burrow shiver. Fred had thrown an arm over George's shoulder, and whispered into his ear, "Just close your eyes and pretend it's fireworks."

George had closed his eyes, leaning against Fred, and pictured fireworks exploding outward, purple, red and gold lights dotting his vision.

Now, alone in a room where he didn't belong, George closed his eyes. This time, there were no fireworks. This time, all he could see were the flashes of green light that had killed his teachers, friends, and Fred.

He opened his eyes, trying not to cry out with fear. He crawled to the bed, his head spinning. He pulled the blankets over his head as another round of thunder made the cottage shake.

…

The storm ended around midnight. George got out of his bed with shaking legs. He walked out of his room, jumping slightly as the floor creaked under his feet. He heard Bill snoring in the bedroom, and heard Harry tossing and turning on the couch downstairs. He passed the room Ginny and Hermione were sleeping in, darting past the door quietly when he saw that a light was on. He heard Ginny murmuring to Hermione.

George walked down the hallway to the bathroom. He shut the door behind him, leaving the light off as he knelt, retching into the toilet. Once the small amount of water he had managed to drink left his stomach, he sat back on his heels, rubbing his eyes. He heard movement in the hallway outside and got to his feet quickly, grabbing the edge of the sink with one hand as his head spun. He looked up, and saw Fred's face in front of him. For a split second he felt a rush of exhilaration, his mouth curving into a smile for the first time in months. Then he took in the sallow skin, the gaunt face, the hollow eyes. He turned away from the mirror as the pain washed back over him, making him double up over the toilet again.

There was a light knock at the door, but George couldn't hear it over the pounding of his heart in his head. The beat sounded again and again, only acting as a reminder of the fact that Fred's heart would never beat again. In a split second, Fred and George had become George. Just George.

George straightened up, smashing his fist into the mirror. The shards of glass flew outward, cutting his hand open. His hands flew outward, pulling the shelves from the wall and throwing them at the window. He grabbed a shard of glass from the sink, feeling it sink into the skin of his palm.

The door burst open and Ron and Bill ran in. Ron pulled the glass from George's hand as Bill grabbed him around the waist, pinning his arms to his sides.

George allowed his brothers to pull him into the hallway, away from the mess he had created. His head spun and his heart pounded. He gasped for air, blackness on the edge of his vision. Then, he went limp and the blackness took over.

…

George was at the shop. Fred was at the front desk, his eyes twinkling as he handed a bag full of merchandise to a little boy. He turned to George and grinned.

The show melted away, and Fred fell to the ground. His eyes were frozen open, the light within them gone. His mouth was still curved into a smile, but there was no laughter behind it. The realization that his brother, his other half, was dead hit George like a tidal wave, washing away all happiness and hope and love in his mind, and replacing it with loneliness so piercingly painful George knew he would rather be dead than live alone.

…

George woke with a start, sitting bolt upright in his bed. His back ached, and the cuts on his hands throbbed. Sweat was beaded on his forehead, plastering his hair to his skull. His eyes stung as the curtain swayed slightly, a blade of sunlight roaring toward him. His hands flew up, covering his eyes. He fell back on his pillows, curling in on himself. He could feel the emptiness creeping in on him and he whimpered in fear.

The door opened and George turned away from it, fixing his eyes on the wall.

"You're awake," Bill's voice was deep and calming.

George shivered.

Bill walked over to his younger brother, pulling a blanket up over his shoulders. "You have a fever. Fleur says you aren't eating." He sighed, pulling a chair up to the side of the bed. "George, can you look at me?"

George didn't move.

"George, please."

George stayed frozen.

"Please," Bill was almost pleading with him.

George slowly rolled to his other side, a bolt of pain shooting up his back.

Bill looked at him. George was a shell of the man he used to be. Even his eyes were empty. There was a sorrow so deep and bottomless in George's eyes that just looking at them, Bill wanted to cry.

Fleur stepped into the room, a bowl in her hand. She stood there for a moment, eyes filling with tears when she saw George. "Should I come back later?"

Bill shook his head, "George needs to eat."

Fleur stepped into the room and walked over to Bill and George. She sat at the edge of the bed, clutching the bowl of broth.

George rolled away. The broth smelled delicious, but he couldn't bring himself to eat. He pulled his knees to his chest as he shivered again.

He heard Fleur set the bowl on the table next to the bed. Her footsteps faded away, and the door clicked closed.

Bill sighed heavily. "Ginny and Hermione were supposed to go back to school two days ago, but they're refusing to leave until they know you're okay." Bill stood, "You've been in and out for the last few days. Fleur says your fever is breaking now. You should start feeling better by tomorrow."

George glanced over his shoulder at Bill.

A soft expression came over Bill's scarred face and he laid a heavy hand on his younger brother's shoulder. "I'm going to send the girls. They need to see you before they leave."

Moments after Bill left, Hermione and Ginny entered the room.

Ginny sat on the edge of the bed, and Hermione sat in the chair Bill had just vacated.

"We'll be back for Christmas," Ginny said after a long silence. "And if you need either of us, just send an owl. After what Hermione did for everyone… I don't think the teachers would mind if either of us missed a few more days of school."

Hermione's hand found George's shoulder and squeezed lightly, "We'll be here when you need us."

"We love you," Ginny said earnestly.

George looked over his shoulder at his younger sister, his only sister. She was so strong, so brave. His eyes flicked to Hermione. The smartest girl he had ever met, and no doubt the cause of Ron's new attitude. He rolled away, curling in on himself and letting out a sigh when the door closed.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Just to clear things up with everyone who didn't know this: JKR said that Hermione went back to school the year after the battle so she could attend her seventh year, since she didn't before

George lay in bed for hours, curled into a ball. The smell of the broth was still lingering in the air, and his stomach was aching. He rolled over, grabbing the bowl in one shaking hand. He lifted the spoon to his mouth. The broth was cold, but delicious. He swallowed it all within seconds. He set the bowl back on the table, and rolled back over to his side.

Hours passed before the door swung open. Fleur stepped quietly into the room, walking to the bed. She stooped to pick up the bowl. Her fingers rested softly on George's shoulder for a moment when she saw that he had eaten. "We all love you, George," She whispered. Then she was gone, and the door was sliding closed again.

…

Back at the Burrow, Molly Weasley sat at her kitchen table, staring at her clock.

The hands representing each member of her family, along with Harry, Fleur and Hermione, were pointing at "Home". Except for Fred and George.

She remembered when the family had come home from the battle at Hogwarts. She had been so distraught from losing her son, her baby, that she hadn't noticed the clock until George burst into tears.

A new label had appeared on the clock and Fred's hand was pointing to it. "Elsewhere."

Now, Molly watched her clock, staring at George' hand. George's hand had been on "Lost" since they had come home from the war.

…

Some nights the darkness was empty, easy to hide within, but that night the dark was suffocating, pressing the fear and grief deeper into his mind.

George slid from the bed, grabbing his sweater from the floor. He pulled it on as he walked shakily out of the room. In the hallway, he leaned against the wall, already exhausted from the short walk. He could hear Harry and Ron talking in the living room, their voices hushed. He sighed, pushing himself upright. George's hand clasped the banister as he walked slowly down the stairs.

Harry and Ron looked up when they heard the stairs creak. George looked away from them as he stepped off the final stair. He wrapped his arms around his middle and shuffled into the kitchen.

Ron looked at Harry, keeping silent.

A few moments later, George walked out of the kitchen, holding a glass of water. He sat on the chair opposite Ron and Harry, staring at his hands, which he had wrapped so tightly around the cup it was in danger of shattering.

"Feeling any better, George?" Ron asked, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees.

George sipped his water, pointedly looking away.

Ron sighed, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. Harry leaned back against the couch, one of his fingers absently tracing his scar.

George looked out the window at the pitch black night sky. He couldn't see any stars tonight. He knew they were there though. That was oddly comforting. He sipped his water again, then looked at his younger brother out of the corner of his eye.

Ron looked exhausted. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his skin was pale. His hair was slightly too long and he needed to shave. His eyes flicked up to George and George hastily looked away.

He wanted to say something to Ron, but how could he? What was there to say to make everything alright again? He had been silent for so long because it didn't feel right, trying to make things better with empty words. Back at the Burrow, when he had screamed at everyone, he had said all of the words he needed to. There was nothing left to say anymore.

George's hand was shaking as he took another sip of water. He set the glass on the table in front of him, the sound of the glass hitting the wood loud and hollow.

A door closed upstairs and Bill walked down the stairs. He froze in the middle of the staircase, looking at the three young men. "Oh, you're all awake still?"

Harry nodded and Ron grunted. George picked up his cup of water.

Bill sat down on the couch with Harry and Ron. The three of them looked at George, who stared into his glass of water.

Bill and Ron glanced at each other, and Bill leaned back, his long arms stretching out along the back of the couch. Harry rested his chin in his hand, staring at the carpet.

George suddenly sighed loudly, slamming his glass of water on the table and clutching his head with both hands, his long fingers tugging at his hair.

"George?" Bill said, leaning forward, one hand touching George's shoulder.

George shook him off, breathing heavily.

"Maybe you should get back to bed," Bill stood.

George shook his head. He didn't want to go back to the crushing blackness. It hurt to be out in the real world without Fred, but it hurt even more to lay in the dark thinking about him.

"I'll stay here with you then," Bill said, sinking back down onto the couch.

"So will we," Ron said, glancing at Harry, who nodded.

The four of them sat in silence as the moon dipped low in the sky, the stars swirling around it.

…

The next morning, Fleur walked down the stairs and saw Bill, Harry, Ron and George fast asleep in the sitting room. Ron was draped over the arm of the couch, his mouth open in a snore. Bill's head was tipped back, resting on the back of the couch, his hair in disarray. Harry appeared as though he had been on the couch at one point, but had since fallen off. George was curled in a tight ball on the chair, his knees tucked to his chest.

She couldn't help but smile as she shook her head and went to start breakfast.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Sorry it took me so long to upload, my mom has been unplugging my wireless router every night. This chapter is dedicated to all of my readers!

George was back in the Great Hall, clutching Fred to his chest. The pain was unbelieveable. Fred was gone. He was never coming back. George was alone.

George woke with a start, gasping. He looked around, then remembered where he had fallen asleep. He looked at Harry and his two brothers on the couch. He gazed at them for a long second, feeling one of his eyebrows rising.

Fleur appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, clutching a large bowl to her chest. She giggled at the expression on George's face, then smiled softly at him. "Breakfast is almost ready, if you are 'ungry."

George nodded, then got to his feet, stretching his long arms. He walked into the kitchen, and sat at the table.

Fleur tried to hide her surprise, "I made some eggs and bacon."

George nodded again, resting his head on one hand.

Fleur set a plate in front of him and turned to get herself a cup of tea. She sat back at the table, watching, pleasantly surprised, as George began to eat his breakfast.

"'Ow did you sleep last night?"

George shrugged, taking another bite of eggs.

Fleur realized she was beaming at her brother-in-law. "George, I wanted to let you know that I love you like my own brother."

George looked up at her, a piece of bacon sticking out of his mouth.

She suppressed a giggle. "I'm always 'ere for you, if you need me."

George nodded, one of his hands gently touching her arm.

Suddenly flustered, Fleur stood. She filled a cup with tea and set it in front of George. "I'm going to wake the others."

She walked out of the kitchen, rushing to Bill as soon as George couldn't see her anymore. She shook his shoulder, waking him.

"Wha- where-?" Bill looked around. His eyes fell on Fleur and he smiled, grabbing her hand and kissing it. "Good morning, darling."

"Bill, it's George. 'E's eating!"

Bill jumped to feet, jolting Ron, who muttered a swear under his breath and curled around a pillow. He followed Fleur into the kitchen. George was sitting at the table, shoving the last of his bacon into his mouth. He turned when Bill walked in, raising his eyebrow at how flustered his older brother looked.

"You're eating!" Bill said slightly too loud.

George nodded slowly, narrowing his eyes.

"Bill, stop making a scene," Fleur muttered.

George got to his feet, putting his plate on the counter. He walked to the front hall, grabbing Fred's jacket from the closet and pulling it on. He glanced over his shoulder at Bill and Fleur, then opened the door and walked out.

…

Bill sat in the kitchen, watching Fleur hurry around, making lunch.

"Where do you think he went?"

Fleur looked over her shoulder at her husband. Bill was staring out the window, a concerned expression on his scarred face. He looked up at her, frowning. She set down the bowl she had been holding and sat down on his lap, winding her arms around his shoulders. She kissed his forehead. "Wherever 'e is, I'm sure 'e is fine."

Bill smiled up at her, "I love you."

They leaned into each other, kissing.

The back door opened and they pulled apart, looking up at George. George's eyes were wide, and his ear was turning red. He backed out slowly, pulling the door closed behind him.

Bill looked up at Fleur, and the two of them burst out laughing.

…

Ron heard loud laughter and sat up. He rubbed his neck, looking around. How long had he been sleeping? He heard a groan on the floor and looked down. Harry was lying on the floor, his glasses askew, and his hair tossed over his scar. He snorted, tapping Harry's side with his foot. Harry frowned, closing his eyes tighter and rolling away.

The front door closed and Ron looked up as George walked into the living room. They locked eyes with each other. Ron saw the horror, fear, and loneliness in his older brother's eyes, but for the first time in a long time, he could have sworn there was a shimmer of mirth.

A/N: I tried to make this chapter a little happier, mostly because it's really emotionally draining to write Depressed!George. I'd like to see him starting to feel a little better soon.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Sorry this took me so long to write. School is starting in two days, and one of my best friends is leaving for France soon, so I've been really busy and stressed lately.

George sat out near the ocean. It was late November, and he knew that he should have been wearing a coat, but he couldn't be bothered with going back inside. He looked over his shoulder and saw Ron and Harry in the kitchen, both of them grinning as Bill said something. George knew that he didn't fit in with them anymore. Hell, maybe he never fit in with them in the first place. Maybe Fred was the one who really fit in, and George just got swept along in his wake.

George sighed heavily, staring though his misting breath at the horizon. He tried not to shiver, and buried his head in hands. A particularly loud bark of laughter from the kitchen startled him, and he sat upright, gasping in the cold air. Sometimes Ron's laugh sounded just like Fred's. Tears flecked the corners of George's eyes and he got to his feet. He stared at his feet as he walked back toward the cottage. One step at a time. He breathed heavily, and froze. What was the point of going back inside? Everyone would look at him with pity, and would try to make him eat, and would ask if he was okay even though they knew the answer.

The breeze off of the sea was cold, but George could barely feel it anymore. He could barely feel anything anymore. He had gone numb a few days ago, and he liked it. It dulled the pain and horror within his head.

…

Bill looked out the kitchen window and saw George standing outside of the house, looking down at the ground. He could tell that his younger brother was shaking, but he wasn't sure if it was because of the cold or what he was thinking.

"Excuse me," Bill said, as he grabbed his jacket off of the back of Fleur's chair.

"Where are you going?" Ron asked.

Bill jerked his head toward George, who was still staring at the ground. Bill turned, opening the back door and walking outside. He softly closed it behind him and walked toward his brother. "Hey, George."

George looked up, tears rolling down his cheeks.

"Come inside?" Bill held out one arm.

George walked forward, and Bill wrapped his arm around George's shoulder, leading him into the house. Fleur opened the door when they got close, staring up at Bill with concern in her eyes.

George shrugged out from under Bill's arm and practically ran out of the room. Ron stared after him. Harry and Fleur shared a look. They both wanted to help, but they knew it wasn't their place.

Bill and Ron looked at each other, then nodded, walking out after George.

…

George was sitting on his bed, his hands knotted together, when he heard a knock on the door. He looked up as Bill and Ron walked in. None of them said anything as Bill and Ron sat on the bed on either side of George. The three brothers sat together in silence, staring at the floor. Ron lifted his hand, letting it fall onto George's knee. George glanced over at him, and Ron stared at him. There was so much Ron wanted to say to his older brother, but he didn't know how to get the words out. The hollow, haunted glint in George's eyes was enough to make the breath in his throat catch. So, he stayed silent.

…

A/N: Sorry that was so ridiculously short. I'm wayyy too stressed about school… and it hasn't even started yet.


	8. Chapter 8

George kicked his blankets off, feeling stifled. He heard voices laughing downstairs and scowled. How could people still laugh when Fred was dead? He slipped from the bed and padded toward the door. He stood at the top of the stairs, listening to the others talking about him.

"He doesn't really talk anymore," Ron said softly. "It was kind of weird at first, but now it just makes me feel like crying. It's like he thinks Fred was the only person he could talk to."

George scowled and turned, storming toward the bathroom. He made a point to slam the door behind him, hoping they knew that he heard everything. He stripped his clothes off and stepped into the shower. He turned the water as hot as he could handle and stood under the spray until his skin felt raw. He heard a knock at the door, followed by Bill's voice asking if he was alright. He grabbed the first thing his hand touched- a bar of soap- and hurled it at the door.

After at least an hour, he got out of the shower. He wrapped a towel around his waist and stood in front of the mirror. He wiped the mist off of the glass and peered at himself. His face was hollow and his skin was so pale his freckles stood out more than before. His hair brushed his shoulders and his stubble was dangerously approaching beard territory. He sighed heavily and tugged open one of the drawers under the sink. He pulled out a razor and some salve. It wasn't one of the nice voice controlled razors that Fleur's parents had given him and Fred for Christmas a few years ago, but it would have to do.

Another half hour passed before he worked up the energy to leave the bathroom. He stepped out, one hand holding the towel around his waist up, the other hand pulling the door closed. He walked to his room, where he let the towel fall to the floor. He considered curling up in the blankets, stark naked, but something at the back of his mind made him reconsider.

He heard another bout of laughter from downstairs and frowned. He stormed to the dresser in the corner of his room and pulled out some clothes. He tugged them on and walked toward the door. As George walked down the stairs he winced, realizing the shirt he was wearing had been Fred's. He walked into the kitchen and the laughter stopped.

"Merlin, George," a soft voice said from by the back door.

George turned. The second his eyes landed on _her_ he stumbled backward, his back slamming into the counter. He stared at her with wide eyes, his mouth slightly open. The one thing that had ever come between Fred and George was sitting in the kitchen like she owned it. What the hell was she doing there anyway?

"Angelina wanted to see you," Bill said, trying to ignore George's momentary loss of control.

Angelina looked up at George from where she sat, her chair tilted back on two legs so it was resting against the back door. She was wearing a pair of loose, faded jeans and a red t-shirt. Her Gryffindor scarf was loosely wrapped around her neck. She leaned forward, the front legs of her chair slamming into the floor.

George flinched and his hands tightened on the edge of the counter.

Angelina stood, tossing her braids over her shoulder. She raised an eyebrow at George and his hands relaxed. "You're not even going to say hi?" She asked.

George swallowed and clenched his jaw shut.

Angelina leaned back on the counter next to George. "That's alright, George. I know you don't talk anymore."

He looked down at her and she smiled.

"I'll just have to do all the talking," She said.

…

George and Angelina sat on the couch together. Angelina had her legs tucked up under her, and one of her arms was resting along the length of the back of the couch, her fingertips occasionally brushing against the fabric of George's shirt.

Fleur walked into the room and set two cups of tea on the small table in front of the couch. "'Ow is it going?"

"Great!" Angelina beamed up at her and tugged at George's shirt. "I've been talking his ear off."

There was a long pause as Angelina looked at the dark hole at the side of George's head and Fleur's jaw dropped.

George felt his throat begin to constrict as he looked at the horrified expressions on the women's faces.

"Shit, George," Angelina said. "I'm sor-"

George let out a burst of laughter, felt it rising up from his chest and bubbling out of his mouth before he could hold it back. He clapped his hand over his mouth, stood, and rushed out of the room.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: This will eventually turn into George/Angelina, because they make me smile. Also I tried to make this chapter extra-long to make up for how long it took me to update :/**

George sat in his room, staring at his hands. The world swam in front of his eyes, blurred and twisted. He blinked and a tear rolled down his cheek, dropped off of his chin and splashed onto his right hand. He impatiently rubbed his eyes and groaned. He was so tired of crying all the time. He just wanted his brother back. He ran his hands through his hair, then let them drop, slapping against his knees. He lay back on the bed, pulling the blankets up over his head.

George closed his eyes, but that only brought on images of Fred's body, limp in his arms, and feelings of anger, grief, loneliness. He opened his eyes. Lonely. That was a new feeling. Before the battle he had never really been alone. Back when he and Fred were in their fourth year and Fred was starting to pay more attention to girls, George had sometimes craved a bit of time alone. Now, lying in the dark, smothered by his own anguish, George hated himself. Maybe if he had appreciated Fred more they would still be together. Maybe Fred would still be alive.

George rolled onto his side, curling up as tightly as he could. He wrapped his arms around his knees and knotted his fingers together. He slammed his eyes closed, pressing his face into the mattress until everything was quiet and cold and dark.

…

George was running. The forest around him was dark and eerily silent. The only sound he could hear was his heartbeat drumming in his ears, and his gasping breaths. He could see Fred up ahead of him, weaving in and out of the trees. Fred laughed and stopped in front of George. George skidded to a stop, staring at his brother. Fred said something, but George couldn't hear over the pounding of his heart. The forest grew darker, until the blackness swallowed Fred, and George stood alone.

…

Bill, Fleur, and Angelina were in the kitchen when they heard George scream. Bill spilled his tea as he jumped to his feet and ran out of the kitchen. Angelina and Fleur rushed after him. Bill threw George's door open and knelt beside the bed. He tugged the blankets and pillows off of George, who was shaking and crying.

The women stood back as Bill sat on the bed next to George, wrapping his arms around his younger brother. George let out a choked sob and buried his face in Bill's shoulder, fisting his hands in Bill's sweater. Bill shot a panicked glance at Fleur, who wrung her fingers together and backed out of the room, Angelina on her heels.

…

Bill woke the next morning, sprawled out on George's bed, George sound asleep next to him. He sat up and stretched his arms over his head. He looked down at George and smiled sadly. Even when George slept the grief never left his face. Bill got off of the bed and pulled the covers tight around George. When the twins had been younger and Molly had her hands full with the other kids, sometimes Bill would get them ready for bed. He still remembered that both twins loved having the blankets tugged tight around them. He turned away and walked out of the room, closing the door quietly behind himself.

He walked down the stairs and found Angelina and Fleur sitting in the kitchen, sipping tea. Angelina's hair was loose down her shoulders, wavy from the braids she had worn the day before. She nodded at Bill, "Morning."

"Good morning," Bill said, pulling out a seat and joining them.

Fleur slid a cup of tea over to him, smiling. "'Ow did you sleep?"

"Not well," Bill grinned wickedly. "George snores."

George scoffed as he walked into the kitchen, rolling his eyes.

"Okay, so maybe I snore a little also."

"A little?" Fleur muttered.

Angelina and George both laughed softly. George glanced over his shoulder at Angelina, who shot him a smile. He blinked, then turned toward the window.

"George, I thought Mum and Dad could visit today?" Bill said lightly.

George sighed and perched at the edge of the table. His long fingers clutched at the back of a chair, like he was in danger of collapsing. He took a deep shaking breath, then nodded.

…

Molly and Arthur knocked on the door of Shell Cottage. The door was tugged open and Bill stood in the threshold, smiling.

"How is he doing?" Molly asked, giving Bill a brief hug and scanning the front room as if to see if George was hiding in one of the corners.

"He laughed yesterday," Bill said.

"Did he really?" Arthur said, brightening.

"And again this morning!" Angelina called from the living room, where she was talking about Quidditch with Harry and Ron.

"That's wonderful," Molly said breathlessly. Bill led his parents into the living room. They sank onto the couch next to Harry. Molly absently smoothed Harry's hair down as Arthur smiled at Ron. Fleur brought out a tray with tea and biscuits and set it on the table in front of the couch. She sank into one of the puffy armchairs, glancing anxiously at Bill.

"So," Arthur said, "What have you been up to, Angelina?"

"Processing things, mostly," Angelina said. "I've been talking to kids whose families were affected by the war, trying to do my part to help. I decided to come here because I've been worrying about George since… you know. Anyway, I just really need to know that he'll be okay." She sighed and leaned forward, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes. "I just want him to be happy again, you know?"

Molly glanced at Fleur, who smiled sadly. Molly and Arthur stiffened as a door slammed upstairs. George walked down the stairs, staring at the floor. He glanced up at his mother and she gasped, "Oh, _George_."

George walked over to his mother and wrapped his arms around her comfortingly, as though she was the one who had her heart ripped in half and clumsily stitched back together.


End file.
